


Too Long

by PertPeeve



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Epic Friendship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Multi, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9836900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PertPeeve/pseuds/PertPeeve
Summary: "The worst part about dying this way, as described time and again by those who’d endured it, was that death refused to come soon enough. The malmortice took a person to the edge of life and hung them there."---Newt is bitten by a magical creature thought to be extinct. A creature long associated with curses, plagues, and death. His friends attempt to keep him going long enough to find a way out, but Newt is finding it difficult to remain optimistic in the shadow of the grim reaper.





	1. Definitely Fear the Reaper

**Author's Note:**

> This one's been nagging at me for a while. Newt is so awkward and sweet and adorable, so of course I have to give him a horrible illness. Also I am a huge fan of Newt and Jacob as super awesome beast-wrangling best friends.  
> Do not fret, there will be a fair amount of fluff and comfort and friends being rad to each other amidst the suffering.
> 
> Also graphic depictions of a gross illness, so watch for that.
> 
> ... let's go!

“Hurry along, Jacob! We’re very nearly there.”

Several metres behind, Jacob Kowalski, decked out in what could only be described as the most stereotypical “safari adventure” attire imaginable, broke through a net of intertwining foliage. He stumbled back onto what Newt had assured him was a well-traversed path, flicking away the latest collection of clinging insects, brambles, and who knew what else.

(Jacob had come to the conclusion that, whimsy and amazement aside, sometimes it was better not to know _everything_.)

“We were ‘ _very nearly there_ ’ two hours ago, Newt. And ‘ _getting close_ ’ another two before that.” Jacob removed his hat and turned it into a temporary fan. The humidity was almost suffocating. “If this place ain't around the corner then I’m taking a nap right here in the dirt.”

Newt Scamander turned just enough to flick his gaze backward, if only for a moment. He was still wearing his layers despite the stifling heat, and carrying his trademark suitcase. He seemed completely comfortable where Jacob was inches from keeling over and slowly drowning in his own sweat.

“I promise,” Newt replied, “ten minutes more at the most—can’t you smell the cooking fires?”

Jacob perked up at that. He replaced the hat and staggered onward. Cooking fires. Cooking fires meant _civilization_. Civilization meant _comfort_.

“And in any case you really wouldn’t want to stop for a kip in this jungle. The nundu in this region aren’t nearly as docile as Penelope.”

As Penelope was one of only a few of Newt’s creatures that Jacob left alone for want of the continued attachment of his limbs, Jacob picked up his pace, narrowing the gap between himself and the long-legged magizoologist.

To Newt’s credit, it was only another five minutes before Jacob could smell the cooking fires over the aroma of his own long-unwashed clothing. Their contact, Mosi, who Jacob remembered meeting in a market a few weeks before appeared around a corner a moment later, smiling and welcoming them to his village.

“This way, Mister Newt, Mister Jacob, our chief is excited to meet you both.”

Mosi led them to the edge of the forest, through a fence that looked curiously higher and stronger than most fences Jacob had seen in the villages (not that he was an expert yet, by any means). Many smiling faces met them on the other side, as well as a number of welcoming wood-and-clay houses. Jacob breathed a sigh of relief as a young girl handed him a cup of water. He nodded his thanks and took it eagerly.

“Where does he keep the creature?” Newt asked, eyes scanning the village for any sign of their quarry. “You said it had suffered an injury?”

“You will meet it,” Mosi reassured. “After you are welcomed. There will be food and singing and dancing—“

“But does the creature need immediate attention?” Newt interjected, “I wasn’t certain of the species from your description. I’d like to assess the damage and determine—“

Jacob sidled up next to his friend, patting Newt on the shoulder which made the ginger go rigid. “You’ll have to excuse my friend here. He’s just a big animal lover, y’know? We’re really excited to meet everyone and not walk for a while. Right Newt?”

Newt forced an awkward smile, but it was clear where his focus would be for however long the celebrations continued.

Mosi nodded and smiled back. “Excellent, this way!”

 

* * *

 

 

The initial introductions and pleasantries had gone by mostly without incident, though Jacob had to wonder how many people Newt had managed to offend across the globe on his previous expeditions. He was polite enough, though nearly every question the young Brit put forth was in some way related to the chief’s mysterious pet, the mysterious pet’s current state of health, and how long it would be before Newt would have access to said mysterious pet. The ginger-haired man spent the whole of the feast that followed deaf to his host’s small talk and Mosi's translations as his eyes roved everywhere for a hint of magical monster.

Jacob, for his part, had been excited to join Newt on his next trek. After having regained his memories he was all too excited to see what else this new magical world had to offer. He’d only scratched the surface, and visiting a place as big and unknown and fundamentally enchanting as East Africa would have to be mind-blowing. In the end, he found himself not so much useful as a fellow note-taker and beast-spotter, but rather fell into the role of Newt’s caretaker. The eccentric beast enthusiast was particularly skilled at neglecting his own well-being. He would disappear at the drop of a hat, run unthinking into danger, leave his wounds unmentioned and untreated, go days without sleeping or eating, and of course make numerous social faux pas that required Jacob’s calming intervention.

The village in which they now found themselves was not magical, though the people had made their homes in the center of, according to Newt, an area quite perplexingly overrun with magical creatures. Jacob could only wonder what was out there that warranted such a large fence…

“—joying yourself?”

Newt frowned, getting the feeling that he’d missed something again. Sure enough, Mosi was looking at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you enjoying yourself? The food is good?”

Newt blinked, becoming aware of the assorted meats and fruit still sitting in his lap. “Oh,” he lifted a piece of yellow fruit and placed it in his mouth. “Yes. Thank you. Uhm—I was wondering—“

“The creature, yes,” Mosi smiled. “I’ll show you now. The chief has it outside the fence. It scares the people.”

Newt was on his feet at once, his eyes wide and eager. Mosi nodded to the chief, who quietly excused himself. As the three made their way to the fence, Jacob pulled his gaze away from a group of dancers and half-stood, ready to follow.

“Stay, Jacob,” Newt gestured to the still celebrating villagers. “Enjoy your rest. I don’t want to crowd it.”

“You sure, Newt?”

The younger man didn’t respond, jogging excitedly toward the fence. Jacob hesitated a moment before retaking his seat, returning his attention to the welcoming villagers.

When they reached the edge of the village, the chief set about unlatching a large gate. The man seemed to be struggling with the task. Newt noticed for the first time that he looked a bit pale and drawn. As did Mosi, come to think of it.

They passed through the gate, and Newt promptly spotted an animal pen just within the trees. He jogged forward, but stopped short. The animal inside was evident from this distance, and Newt couldn’t help but feel the slightest twinge of disappointment that this was nothing he hadn’t seen before. In fact, this particular beast didn’t match Mosi’s descriptions at all. But his passion for all creatures, rare or otherwise, persevered as the juvenile erumpent let out a sudden mournful wail.

“She’s too young to be away from her mother,” Newt muttered. The animal turned to him, snuffling the air, hopeful for a sign of her own kind. Smelling nothing familiar, the erumpent slumped to the ground and continued its saddened calls.

“There was another,” Mosi informed. “We had her before she gave birth to this little one. But she was quite ill for a very long time. She did not live long after.”

Newt patted the little one without looking up. “What were the mother’s symptoms?”

“It was a strange illness. It started with fever and weakness. She could not keep food down. But then her vomit turned black. She bled from her nose and eyes. All black. We were forced to take her life. The people were scared.”

Newt furrowed his brows and stood a little straighter. He didn’t blame them for ending the creature’s suffering, but he was concerned that it had happened at all. Tidbits of information ran through his brain as he tried to pinpoint anything that might result in such an illness. Erumpents were typically quite hearty. It would take quite a powerful illness or toxin to produce such an outcome…

“The chief’s special creature is this way,” Mosi said, stepping away from the erumpent pen to a small building hidden within the jungle growth behind it.

Newt was caught off guard. “This isn’t…?”

“No, no. This way. In here. She’s a bit strange, but friendly.”

He was now distracted by the infant erumpent, but Newt allowed himself to be pulled away for the sake of seeing something potentially new.

It took a moment for Newt’s eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the secluded hut, but once they had, he froze. The animal was about the size of a medium dog. Black, with a sort of hard bony armor poking through a thick mane of matted hair. Its face was a dark dusty grey and appeared to be lacking any flesh, yellow eyes glowing from within the deep sockets. Its long purple tongue lolled out of its gaping mouth, resting atop gangling legs that each ended in a cloven hoof. The rattle of a chain drew Newt’s eyes to the collar around the creature’s throat. It appeared to be chaffed and bleeding from the bonds.

“This… this is…” Newt stammered as the creature slowly got to its feet.

“Beautiful, yes? We found her in the pen outside one morning. The mother rhino had pinned her to the fence. Her leg was injured, but is healing now.”

Newt’s mouth had gone dry. The symptoms suddenly clicked.

“You need to free her. Release her back into the jungle. You’re all in serious danger. Just living in close proximity to one of these—“

“Release her?” Mosi shook his head. “She is the chief’s now! He is very proud of her.”

“Have you been bitten? Has anyone been bitten?”

“No, no, she’s very friendly. Never bitten—“

“You out here? Newt?”

Jacob’s voice came from outside. The creature in the hut was starting to whine. The chief pushed past Mosi and Newt to kneel down next to it, stroking the animal’s strangely exposed skull.

“Go back to the feast, Jacob,” Newt said as firmly as he could without upsetting the creature further. He looked to the chief, then to Mosi. “Please tell him that this animal is extremely dangerous. Deadly. The erumpent—er, the rhino—it died because it was bitten. You—your chief, have you been feeling ill, tired, worn-down at all?”

Mosi at first looked defensive, but Newt’s words must have hit on something. He faltered, speaking to the chief in their own language, with what Newt was relieved to hear was a pleading tone.

The chief shook his head, getting back to his feet. He answered Mosi with evident anger, gesturing for the magizoologist to step away. Newt stood his ground, swallowing hard, considering his next move. The creature was clearly uneasy. He had to be convincing. There were lives on the line.

He could hear Jacob shuffling closer to the hut.

_Oh, to hell with the rules._

“This creature is a malmortice. Prolonged exposure results in serious illness. Your village—your people are all in grave danger should you keep it here. Please,” he locked eyes with the chief, “I’m only trying to help.”

Mosi spoke again. The chief looked pained but possibly wavering. Jacob stepped closer to the hut, blocking out the dwindling sunlight. Out of the corner of Newt’s vision he saw only the glowing eyes of the malmortice, hovering in the void.

And then the baby erumpent wailed again. Jacob jumped, bumping into Newt, who in turn staggered into the chief. In the darkness Newt only saw the eyes dart, and then felt a hot jolting pain across his lower leg. An instant later everyone had scrambled back out into the low light of the setting sun.

“God, sorry,” Jacob muttered, hand clutched over his heart. “That startled me. Everyone all right? What’s in there? Newt? Newt!”

Jacob caught sight of the man’s trousers, now dotted with blood where the malmortice’s needle-like teeth had penetrated. Newt’s face was absolutely drained of colour as he stared at the injury, wide-eyed and shaking.

_No. No, no, no._

“We need to get that cleaned and bandaged. You got a… first aid hut, or…?”

Mosi was equally startled after everything Newt had just told him, but shook himself free and nodded to Jacob. “Y-yes. The healer will treat him. I will take you to her.”

Jacob wrapped one of Newt’s arms around his shoulder and helped the younger man to stand. As they passed the hut, Newt locked eyes with the chief again.

“Release her!”

“C’mon, Newt. I gotcha.”

“You know you must. Let her go!”

 

* * *

 

 

Though Jacob knew Newt’s leg had to be aching something fierce, the younger man was quiet on the hike back, and kept up a pace he was sure couldn’t be good for the injury.

In the end, Newt had convinced the chief to release the animal that had bitten him. Jacob hadn’t been given many details, other than what he had heard before the incident, and what Newt had rambled on about as the healer cleaned and bound his leg.

A malmortice. Even the name sounded sinister to Jacob. The creature itself hadn’t looked much better, from what little he had seen in all the commotion. Honestly, aside from the bite, it had seemed to the no-maj to be a pretty successful day. Newt saw a rare creature, and they’d ended up taking the juvenile erumpent. Newt figured it would be better off in the company of the female he already had in his suitcase.

But even amidst the accomplishments of the day, Jacob couldn’t help but note the other man’s distracted demeanor. When they returned to their lodgings that evening, Newt disappeared immediately into his suitcase, the lid of which he closed behind him.

Jacob sighed, spread out on his bed, and opened a book. He could take a hint.

 

* * *

 

 

Newt crumpled as soon as he was out of sight in his workshop. How had he been so careless? He shouldn’t have persisted. He should have read the animal’s body language. What kind of beast expert was he? He was better than that.

He’d ruined it. He’d ruined everything. Who would champion the rights of magical creatures now? Who would teach the world of their secrets? Merlin, he needed to find someone to care for his _own_ creatures.

How long did he have?

_Too long._ It was going to be too long, in the end.

He was shaking now. He stood, searching restlessly and mindlessly through his writings; through his samples. He had no idea what he was looking for. What could he do? What could he possibly _do?_

He felt a light pressure on his upper arm and tensed, meeting the huge eyes of the demiguise. Dougal looked at him with knowing concern. Newt swallowed the lump in his throat. Was it his imagination, or did he already feel off? Should he? How soon would he notice the symptoms?

The demiguise made a sound of concern. Newt straightened his clothing and took the creature by the hand.

“It’s fine, Dougal,” he sighed. “Let’s feed them all, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

 

Jacob waited up and was pleased when Newt emerged from his suitcase a few hours later. He had half expected the easily-distracted man to sleep in his workshop, which wouldn’t be altogether out of the ordinary. Tempting the waters, Jacob smiled at him.

“All right? How’s the leg?”

Newt forced himself to make eye contact, which was encouraging. The Newt-Brand Awkward Smile that followed was even moreso.

“Seems all right,” he replied, making his way to his own bed.

“Animals fed?”

Newt sat down with a sigh, proving that he was indeed human and needed rest just like any no-maj.

“Yes. Dougal helped. The young erumpent is already perking up. Jacob… I’m sorry, I… didn’t mean to…”

Jacob wasn’t about to let the poor guy stumble over an apology he didn’t really need to be making. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Everybody needs space sometimes. I grabbed some food while you were busy—should still be warm.”

Jacob gestured to a side-table where a covered dinner tray was waiting. Newt smiled. He might as well take advantage while he was still feeling all right.

He eased himself up again, sitting down for his first proper meal of the day. An awkward silence followed as Jacob pretended to be immersed in his book. But Newt knew a conversation was coming. And he would have to explain it eventually… he would only be able to hide this for so long—

“Okay so what was that thing?” Jacob ended the silence sooner than expected. “I’m sorry, I know something didn’t go as planned but—they got rid of it, didn’t they? That’s good, right?”

Newt chewed and swallowed, the food sticking in his throat. He took a sip of water. All fine so far.

“Yes. I think they’ll be all right. I don’t think they had the malmortice long enough for the effects to be permanent. Hopefully it will find new territory…” Newt paused, hoping the creature hadn’t gotten too attached to the chief. It had appeared to be an almost canine-like bond. It had moved to protect its master when Newt stumbled suddenly forward. Very interesting… he would have to make a note of it—

“So it makes people sick?”

“Er, yes. The malmortice was once associated very closely with death. It was a reaper of sorts. Or it appeared to be. In truth, it carries some form of toxin or spore that corrupts an area, and everything living within it.” He took another bite of his meal, eyes gazing blankly forward. “I’m sure a number of plagues and curses throughout the years were in fact the result of a malmortice living too close…”

Newt placed his utensils down, turning to Jacob. “There hasn’t been a report of one in decades. I’d assumed they’d gone extinct.”

Jacob’s eyebrows raised. “So this is good! Something for your book?”

Newt flinched, but forced a smile. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty to write about where this creature is concerned.”

Jacob returned the smile, but he knew he was still missing something. He went back to his book for now. Whatever else needed to be said could wait.

Newt appreciated the temporary reprieve. He tried to steady his mind and his heart. He was fine right now. He would enjoy it while he could.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Newt woke feeling tired but otherwise fine. He and Jacob packed their things, said goodbye to the wizarding family that had housed them the last week, and boarded a carriage. They traveled through the night, and come morning were close enough to apparate the rest of the way.

By the end of the second day they were back on a ship and heading to America, in a small but comfortable enough cabin. They would be at least a month at sea, but Newt had his creatures, and Jacob’s company. He felt optimistic enough for now.

The third day brought troubled weather, a seasick mooncalf, and a confrontation between Jacob’s sandwich and a particularly determined seagull.

On the fourth day, Newt woke feeling slightly chilled. The wound on his leg was bruising and Jacob commented that he was looking paler than usual. By the end of the day the fever had broken and Newt had brushed it off as a coincidence.

The nausea that crept into his stomach on the sixth day was harder to dismiss. He managed to take care of his creatures with Jacob’s help, but the smell of raw meat brought back his breakfast. Newt played it off as also feeling the effects of seasickness, though the bad weather had long passed them by.

On the tenth day his wound began to ooze. The fever returned. Jacob took over caring for the animals and found a nurse when Newt didn’t improve by the evening. He was treated for an infection, thanked the nurse for her help, and tried to sleep, knowing full well that it was only the beginning.

By the twentieth day Newt knew for certain. The symptoms were everything that had been described. He felt feverish most days. Exhausted. The nausea was ever-present, though he tried to force himself to eat what he could. His wound was no longer oozing, but it was also refusing to fully heal. Putting weight on it was becoming difficult.

The day before they were scheduled to arrive in New York, Jacob found Newt on the floor of their cabin, back against the wall, asleep with a foul-smelling bucket in his lap.

He sat on the bed nearest Newt, reaching to set the bucket aside. Newt had had a bit of a rough time at sea when they first set out on their little African adventure, but he’d been excited and lively then, and he’d recovered quickly. This time, Newt seemed to be getting worse by the day. The young man slept like a housecat. He was barely eating. And most troubling, the care of his creatures had fallen entirely on Jacob for the last few days. The beasts were concerned and unsettled, which made Jacob all the more uneasy.

He gave the freckled young man a once-over. Newt looked grey in the face. He’d lost weight he couldn’t afford to lose. The change had been gradual enough for Jacob not to see it right away, but now it was glaring.

“Newt?” he tried.

The magizoologist stirred, brows furrowing. He struggled to open his eyes. It hurt Jacob to see someone so normally bubbling over with energy having a trying time lifting his own head.

“Hmmyes? What time is it?”

Newt gripped a side table and tried to stagger to his feet. Jacob rushed around the bed to catch him before he tripped and knocked himself out.

“Time to get off the floor. Easy now.”

Jacob got his friend onto the bed and eventually felt safe enough to back away and let Newt sit unaided.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Jacob sat on the opposite bed, looking the man—the kid, really—square in the eyes. Newt had a hard enough time holding someone’s gaze on a good day, but now he found it almost impossible. But... he couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Listen, I know something’s been bothering yo—“

“I’m going to die,” Newt blurted. He shifted his position as Jacob’s eyes went wide. He looked at the ceiling, and then to the floor. He wrung his hands together. He tried to smile. What else could he do?

“Wha—you’re going to—?” Jacob choked on his own reaction. He’d expected a bombshell, but nothing like this. Right? Or maybe he’d been kidding himself. He knew enough to immediately link everything together. “Th-this is because of the bite, isn’t it?”

Newt gave an almost imperceptible nod. “The bite of a malmortice is always fatal.”

Jacob shook his head angrily at the notion of ‘always’. A long silence followed. He huffed, fighting the tears; cleared his throat. “How long?”

Newt sighed. He ran his tongue over his chapped lips. The worst part about dying this way, as described time and again by those who’d endured it, was that death refused to come soon enough. The malmortice took a person to the edge of life and hung them there.

“Long.”

He closed his eyes. “Too long.”


	2. To Rival Runespoor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Jacob return to New York for a bittersweet reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as long a chapter as the last, but this seemed a good point to end it to make way for the next. Thanks for the kudos, bookmarks, and comments!

Jacob pulled on his coat and joined Newt at the bow of the ship where the young man was watching the city grow on the horizon.

“Got everything? All your books and notes?”

Newt nodded. Jacob rubbed his hands together. He’d forgotten they’d been gone long enough that it was winter again in the big apple.

“You warm enough? I got a hat in my bag I think…”

“I’m lovely, thank you.”

Newt watched the tugboats in the harbour, giving the nearest a shy wave though he was sure those on board weren’t looking at him in particular.

Jacob moved closer. “How’s the stomach—?”

Newt turned, his smile having now shifted into something a bit forced. “Yes I’m not… actually in any danger of dying right at the moment, thank you Jacob.”

“All right, all right,” his friend sighed, leaning forward against the railing. “Just worried is all.”

“I know.” Newt kept his eyes on the city, bowing his head. They din of human life rose louder with each passing moment, and he found it strangely calming, despite his last visit being such a thing of chaos. He was looking forward to seeing Tina and Queenie again.

Jacob seemed to read his mind. “God I missed Queenie’s cookin’.”

Newt angled his head, quirking an eyebrow at the shorter man. Jacob laughed, “and Queenie too!”

 

* * *

 

 

Passing through customs did not go so smoothly the second time around. Newt had felt a bit dazed once back on land and switching his suitcase to ‘muggle-proof’ had entirely slipped his mind. The result was a custom’s officer who received a face full of fwooper, a frazzled Newt very speedily obliviating said officer, and Jacob laughing off what had obviously been a ‘damn pigeon’ to the now bewildered fellow passengers waiting in line.

The adrenaline rush that followed gave Newt the energy to apparate to the Goldstein’s apartment and still feel relatively alert. The two climbed the stairs as quietly as possible to avoid drawing the ire of Mrs. Esposito (who, in truth, was well enough aware at this point that Queenie and Jacob were an item, but still felt the need to keep up the appearance of distrusting any male presence).

Newt stopped at the landing. He could hear someone—likely Queenie—giggling about something behind the door. He felt abruptly nervous.

“Perhaps this was a mistake,” he said, taking a step backward. “I—I can’t tell them yet—“

Jacob stood his ground, which was still in the middle of the staircase, effectively blocking Newt’s escape. “Queenie’s gonna know as soon as you step through that door.”

“Yes, exactly! Which is why I should seek other accommodations—“

“Nah nah, we’re here, we’re going in, she’s probably already heard—“

The door opened and Queenie squealed. “I thought I heard voices! You’re back! Ooh, Jacob!”

Newt stretched one long leg to the side and bowed out of the way, allowing Queenie to properly tackle Jacob. The no-maj braced himself as the petite blonde jumped into his arms.

“I missed you too!” Jacob laughed, stumbling. “God, I missed this _city_. The yellin’ and the traffic and the bad smells—you’re gonna break my neck in a minute though—let’s get off the stairs, huh?”

Newt felt a tap on his arm and turned to a smiling Tina. He brightened, grinning awkwardly back, gave a slight wave, and stood firmly in place. It took Tina’s initiative to pull him into a hug.

“It’s good to see you,” she said, stepping back and holding him at arm’s length. Her brows furrowed a little. Newt could sense the scrutiny. He knew he must look awful after the last few weeks.

She then released him, snorting. “Nope. Not even a hint of a tan.”

Newt laughed and breathed a sigh of relief at the same time.

“Honey I think you lost weight,” Queenie said. Newt looked up with alarm, but the blonde’s attention was still on Jacob. “And you got some muscle too! You gotta tell us about your adventures, c’mon, come in you two!”

Jacob, feeling awfully good about himself, waltzed into the apartment. Tina followed after. Newt moved to join them, but stopped short at Queenie’s light gasp.

He flinched and continued to stare at the floor. He knew what was coming. Accent or no, he had to be broadcasting his thoughts so loudly and clearly that every Legilimens in New York could hear him. With effort, he pried his gaze from his feet and met the blonde’s eyes.

“Oh Newt…” Queenie brought her hands to her face, eyes wasting no time as they filled with tears.

Newt shook his head, taking her arms and forcibly lowering them. He addressed her in a hushed tone. “We’ll talk about it, I promise. Tonight. After we’ve caught up. I don’t want to start with bad news.”

“But you’re…”

“I know, Queenie. I know. So… stories, souvenirs, and dinner first. Day-ruining last, hm?”

Queenie dabbed at her eyes, but gave a quick nod.

The two entered together, Queenie softly shutting the door and disappearing into the kitchen with a murmured “I’ll get a start on dinner”.

“Everything okay?” Tina asked.

“Yes, fine.” Newt sat next to her. His posture was tense and anxious, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for him.

Jacob cleared his throat. “Newt got himself another erumpent.”

“ _Another_ one!?” Tina gasped, turning accusing eyes on Newt.

Newt gave Jacob a look of _gosh, thanks for your help_ , and set about explaining the juvenile erumpent’s situation. One story then led into another, until the tension had cleared and Newt managed to relax back into his chair as Jacob enthusiastically described their run-in with a dark wizard training a clutch of runespoor.

“He was gonna use ‘em to take out the local leaders and no-majs and make some sorta town of wizards only. Guy was a pretzelmouth and everything.”

Tina choked on her coffee.

“Parselmouth,” Newt corrected with a small smile.

“Dinner!” Queenie announced.

Jacob jumped to his feet and jogged into the kitchen, leaving the outcome of his story up in the air. Tina wanted closure, but dinner also smelled wonderful. Queenie had been in the kitchen for a good hour, clearly going out of her way to make something special to welcome back the boys.

“You coming?” she paused, eyes on Newt.

An hour sitting calmly in the Goldstein’s living room had allowed for Newt’s earlier high to give way again to his stubborn nausea. As wonderful as he was sure dinner smelled to the others, the odor of food was turning his insides.

“Sorry, yes.” He got to his feet, stumbling a bit as his sore leg gave out underneath him. Tina shot forward with surprise but the magizoologist managed to right himself and play it off as his usual clumsiness.

“Foot fell asleep,” he laughed. “Jacob bored it.”

Tina smiled. “Well I still want to hear more.”

The four gathered around the table, Queenie setting a wine bottle to pour its contents into their glasses as the lasagna sliced itself into portions and floated onto their plates.

“Looks amazing, Queenie,” Tina said, taking her glass.

Jacob tucked a napkin into his shirt and Newt quietly sipped his wine as the others started eating. Queenie eyed him from across the table and Newt tried and failed not to think about how queasy he was feeling. Defiantly, he brought a piece of the lasagna to his mouth and forced it down, but after a few more bites he was very much fighting the urge to vomit.

Jacob had started up his story again, speaking mostly to Tina. He had just reached the climax—where he and Newt (mostly Newt) and some local witches and wizards had confronted twelve runespoor in a back alley—when Queenie spoke up.

“You don’t need to finish it, sweetie,” she said to Newt, who looked like a startled doe upon being singled out.

Tina glanced at Newt, and then to his plate. “You hardly touched it. Don’t you like lasagna?”

“No! No, I mean… I mean yes, I do. It’s quite good, really—“

“When did you eat last?” Tina pressed.

Newt shook his head. “Ah, breakfast I suppose—”

“You’ve gotta be starving!”

“Seasickness!” Jacob weakly put forth.

“He’s on land.” Tina frowned. “Newt, you’re looking skinny even for you. No time to be picky. Queenie made it special—“

Newt couldn’t take another moment in the spotlight. He promptly shoveled some more lasagna into his mouth, trying very hard not to wince as his body shouted at him to stop.

Tina looked slightly amused at Newt’s apparent childish response to dinnertime, but seemed satisfied. She turned back to Jacob for the grand finale to the runsespoor epic, but the other man’s eyes were still worriedly watching Newt. She gave a start as the ginger-haired man’s chair squeaked backward across the floor and a torrent of limbs went scrambling off to the bathroom.

Queenie and Jacob were on their feet straight away, following after, leaving Tina confused and alone.

Outside the bathroom, Jacob winced at the echoing sounds of retching from within. “Should we go in?” Jacob asked.

Queenie tapped on the door. “Newt, sweetie, you need help?”

Tina emerged around the corner as Newt groaned in response. “What’s happening?”

Jacob and Queenie answered “he’s sick” and “he’s going to explain” in unison, and then shared a worried glance with one another.

“Explain what?” Tina was feeling quite neglected in whatever secret they were all sharing.

Newt opened the door a moment later, pale-faced and eyes watering, a handkerchief held to his mouth. “As it happens,” his voice was hoarse, “we encountered something worse than runespoor…”


	3. Grim Tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt delivers his upsetting news to Tina, but the two aren't entirely on the same page where next steps are concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't super eventful, but it's sort of fluffy and introspective, so that's... something? Most likely a trip to MACUSA headquarters is up next, which should be terribly exciting (and drag poor Mr. Graves into this mess--hurray)!

Tina stared, shaking her head. Explanations had been given but they had been far from accepted. Back in the living room now, dinner postponed for the time being, Queenie dabbed at her eyes and Jacob bowed his head low.

Tina’s face was blank.

She shifted forward, sighed, shook her head again, and got to her feet. “Nope.”

“No?” Newt’s gaze followed her.

“I can’t accept that. There’s gotta be something we can do.”

“I assure you, I’ve gone through every account I could find—“

Tina paused, shaking a finger in the air as though Newt had hit on a profound point. “Yeah! Every account you could _find._ There’s gotta be more out there.”

Newt returned to contemplating the floor. “I’d find it very unlikely. Studying these creatures is—is _impossible_. The aura of disease—“

“Yeah?” Tina stopped, her once emotionless expression now decidedly set on anger. “And who wrote those accounts of yours, huh? Someone survived!”

“Observers!” Newt grabbed at his hair. “Many of whom did eventually succumb themselves. The malmortice is a harbinger of death, Tina!”

“So what, you’re just gonna give up?”

“I’m going to hold on for as long as I can. Study, and write—document my experiences—“

“Giving up!”

Newt leaned forward with a groan, holding his head by his knees. Tina continued to pace, arms crossed at her front. A minute later the ginger stood and marched to retrieve his suitcase. “If you’ll all excuse me, it’s been a long day. I should tend to them.”

“Newt, honey—“

Queenie got to her feet in time for Newt to disappear into the spare bedroom. She sighed and set sad eyes on her sister.

“He ain’t givin’ up, Teenie. He’s scared is all. He doesn’t wanna… y’know…”

Tina could only offer a defeated sniff. “Die…”

Jacob pulled his head up, slapping his knees. “So we’ll do our own research. Yeah? There’s gotta be somethin’ useful in that mountain-high MACUSA building.”

“I can write to some of the professors at Ilvermorny?” Queenie added.

“I’ll keep working on Newt…” Tina said after a pause, the fire in her voice doused for now. “He’s gotta know people he can ask.”

Queenie brightened. “It’s settled then!”

She hurried off to the kitchen. Tina and Jacob shared a glance.

“Queenie? Not sure we’re in the mood for dinner anymore—“

Queenie returned with a teacup and pressed it into Tina’s hands. “Ginger tea. Helps upset stomach.”

“Oh? … Oh!” Tina nodded and shuffled for the bedroom, Queenie ushering her away with a “go go go!”

 

* * *

 

 

Tina carefully eased herself down the ladder into Newt’s workshop, pausing at the bottom in search of the magizoologist. She saw no signs of him, other than a dozen books and piles of papers scattered about the counter and floor—but considering the room’s everyday state of controlled chaos, she couldn’t say for sure whether the mess was a recent development.

“Newt?”

She heard only a few animal calls in reply.

Taking a few steps forward, she spied Newt’s niffler scurrying into the caves, curiously absent of any stolen shiny things. Seeing as that was her best lead, she followed, and once she’d reached the mooncalves, a few additional creatures had joined the group. All were heading with purpose to the now emptied frozen habitat.

Newt was seated in the snow on the other side of the lightly flapping curtain, Dougal by his side, the demiguise gently petting the man’s arm. A couple of mooncalves had curled up against his outstretched legs, and the niffler charged in without hesitation, taking a spot on Newt’s lap. The freckled man smiled and gave the wayward little beast a loving scratch on the head as a few other creatures joined him.

Tina stood just on the edge of the habitat, tea still in hand, surveying this scene of quiet contemplation in the desolate cold.

“Bit dramatic, don’t ya think?”

Newt jumped, every creature by his side—except Dougal, who of course expected the interruption—flinching or squawking at the sudden movement.

Newt tried to compose himself, easing up onto unsteady legs.

“It’s the fever,” he said, a squirming niffler in his hands now. His eyes were off somewhere else as though the wall beside him were the intended recipient of his reply. “Brings it down a smidge.”

Tina avoided mentioning that Newt had not looked feverish in the living room.

“Yeah well, fever or not it can’t be good to sit in there for too long when you’re sick.”

They stood on opposite ends of the habitat for what felt like ages. Newt placed the wriggling thief in the naked tree next to him. The smell of ginger and lemon wafted up and Tina remembered why she’d come down there in the first place.

“Brought you some tea. Ginger,” she said, taking a tentative step forward. “For the nausea.”

Newt nodded, but made no move to take it. “Thank you. It should be safe from harm in my workshop.”

“Oh.” Tina returned the nod and walked out again. “Right.”

She only made it a few steps before she swerved back around. Newt was just about to sit down in the snow again.

“Look, I'm not tryin' to step on your toes. I know you’re the expert and I know you’re probably right, all right? I know.” Tina set the teacup down on a frozen rock and closed the distance between herself and Newt. “But if you got time anyway, we’ll keep searching, okay? If there is an answer, you’re the one who’s gonna find it.”

Newt quirked a smile, but it was half-hearted. Still, he managed to look at her. “We may not find anything.”

“I know.”

He sighed. His shoulders began to tremble. Tina had moved to physically drag him out of the frozen space when he lifted his head again, eyes unmistakably misty.

“I’d—I’d made peace with it, is all,” his voice cracked. “Everything I’ve read—could we just…”

Tina stared, giving him the room to finish his thought, however long it took.

Newt broke out in another nervous smile. “If these are my last days, I don’t want them to be filled with… desperate scrabbling for answers and remedies and hope that might never be found. I want to spend them with my f—” he got caught on the next word, so he took the scenic route. “My creatures. And… and my friends.”

Tina swiped at her eyes. “C’mon, get outta the damn snow already.”

She took him by a shivering arm and pulled him out of the habitat, collecting the teacup on her way, and was briefly reminded of the day they’d first met. She’d dragged him up and down the length of New York, trying to prove herself a still capable auror, and, like now, he’d followed with a sort of amused indifference—with that awkward gait like he was learning to use those long legs for the first time.

The gait was even more awkward with the addition of a painful bite wound, which she kicked herself for overlooking when they returned to his workshop and he sat down with a wince.

Tina handed over the teacup. “Drink up then, now that you’re half frozen.”

Newt took a sip and scrunched up his face.

“I know,” Tina laughed. “It’s strong and it’s awful. Makes ya wanna be sick but somehow does the opposite.”

“No, no, it’s lovely, thank you. Thank Queenie for me.”

“You’re not comin’ back up? Newt, you should sleep in a proper bed.”

“I will, but,” he took another sip and then set the cup down. “Later. I’d like to write a few letters. Malmortice sightings were always more common across Europe and Africa. Whatever information is out there is more likely to be found at Hogwarts or Uagadou.”

Tina tried to stifle her excitement. “Right! That makes sense.”

Newt smiled and nodded.

She lingered a moment, her own social awkwardness seeping free. “I’ll leave you alone then.” She cleared her throat, nodded back, and hurried up the ladder.

Newt waited until he heard the lid of suitcase close above. He heaved a sigh and rested his head in his hands. His skull was splitting and his leg was throbbing terribly. At least the tea did seem to be doing something, and so he took another sip. The water was only lukewarm after its brief stint in the snow, and the taste was still overpowering as it went down, but it was something in his stomach. Some miniscule amount of nutrition, he supposed.

He turned to the messy desk where he’d written the aforementioned letters weeks ago. He’d written them days after the bite, in truth. He’d written to every professor he could think of from Hogwarts, Uagadou, Castelobruxo—even Durmstrang, despite its current unfortunate association with Gellert Grindelwald. They were known for being secretive, and perhaps their libraries contained some accounts of the malmortice—a creature shrouded in mystery but for its deadliness. He’d also contacted every expert he’d met on his journeys. He’d even written to a few people he’d never actually met. The number of owls coming and going from a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean certainly had to have spurred the passengers and crew to question their sanity.

The replies had trickled in throughout the journey back to New York. Condolences, mostly. Several weak affirmations that no stone would be left unturned. A few snippets of stories and accounts Newt was already well familiar with. And one promise from Albus Dumbledore that he would do everything in his power to find an answer, and a personal request for Newt not to give up hope.

Hope…

Newt brought the tea to his lips again with quivering fingers.

He knew this wasn’t entirely about himself. He knew his friends only wanted to help. He couldn’t very well expect three stalwart Americans to give up without fighting.

He supposed there was no harm in keeping up the appearance of fighting along with them, if it helped them to cope. Maybe some of their hope would rub off. And maybe it wouldn’t destroy him when they inevitably lost the fight.

_Hmm._ For someone so against worrying, he was doing an awful lot of it now.

He set the empty teacup in his lap, the dregs collecting on the bottom in an assortment of shapes.

It might have been his imagination running away, but Newt was certain the shapes looked an awful lot like the silhouette of a sneering dog.


	4. An Ill-Conceived Excursion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt's having a bad day, but agrees to follow Tina and Queenie to work anyway, because reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this chapter in chunks during every free moment, and was tempted to end it earlier in order to post sooner, but just really wanted to get Percival in there. Hope the wait was worthwhile!
> 
> Thanks once again for the lovely comments, kudos, and bookmarks!

Someone was slamming something hard across the back of his head.

Newt winced with each heavy thud from above, the pain slicing back and forth and sending shudders down his spine. He whimpered, burying his head further into his pillow.

No… not his pillow. His coat. Why his coat?

“Please… stop,” he groaned, flailing one arm through the air to defend himself against the onslaught.

A shriek sounded to his other side and he lurched upward, three diricawl scampering under the furniture as the knocking on the ceiling continued, this time followed by Tina’s muffled voice. Newt blinked several times to clear his head, which was pounding even harder now that he was aware of himself. His muscles ached from sleeping seated at his workbench.

The creatures were full of energy and making a racket, which had to mean it was morning. They’d be needing some attention.

But first, Newt very much needed a container that wasn’t half-filled with raw meat.

Tina gave up trying to get Newt’s attention from outside the suitcase and opted to once again descend the precarious ladder. She found him half hunched over a bucket.

“You’re up early. Feedin’ the creatures?”

Newt looked away to hide his grimace. He very much doubted his creatures would have any interest in the contents of this particular bucket.

He nodded anyway. “Been neglecting them a bit,” he said with a croak.

Tina looked as though she might offer him some help, so Newt hefted the bucket and fought to keep his composure at the smell that followed the sudden movement. He had no interest in being coddled or pitied—he was still only at the top of this downward spiral and he would savour what independence he had for the moment, _thank you very much._

Tina’s hands fidgeted at her sides. “Thought you might like to come with us to work today? Say hello?”

“Sounds lovely,” Newt replied. _No it didn’t. Not at all._ He felt beyond awful. What was he doing?

“I’ll be up soon,” he added, making the statement final by exiting the workshop.

On the other side of the door he waited only as long as he could stand it before crumpling over and heaving bile a second time. The taste of acid and ginger filled his mouth. His head threatened to rend itself in two. But Tina didn’t seem to be following, so he counted it as some sort of backwards victory.

“No-no! Off you go!” He weakly swatted the giant dung beetles away from the bucket.

With a sigh Newt lay down in the dirt, eyes forcing themselves closed. He concentrated on breathing and waited for the churning in his stomach and the waves of pain in his head to settle. He let the sounds of his creatures wash over him; fixated on them. The gentle din provided a temporary calm.

The sound of a bucket tipping over and rolling away, however, did not.

_Right._

_Time to start the day._

* * *

 

“You seen my shoes, Queenie?”

“Closet!”

“No, the other shoes. The good ones—I wore them yesterday.”

“Closet, Teenie.”

“These need to be turned?”

“No, no, Jacob, honey, don’t touch, they’ll fry themselves.”

“Feelin’ pretty useless here, doll.”

“Make some coffee?”

Newt emerged from his suitcase to magical chaos. Assorted footwear followed Tina around the room—which were occasionally being examined and rejected—whilst the brunette repeatedly barked different variations of the summoning charm. Eggs and bacon were frying themselves in the kitchen, Jacob hovering around and Queenie shooing him away each time he attempted to intervene. The evening’s dishes were washing themselves above a basin in front of the fireplace, and the morning newspaper was floating in several sections about the room, receiving the occasional glance from each party as they raced about getting ready for the day.

Newt ducked under a pair of heels and found sanctuary on the sofa.

Jacob looked up from the table, now so at ease with the whimsy carrying on all around him. “How d’ya like your coffee, Newt?”

“I rather like it as tea, actually.”

“Funny—whoa whoa watch the grease splatter, frying pan, I’m makin’ coffee here—Newt, you want that ginger stuff again?”

_Oh._ The ginger taste was still burning in the back of his throat. “Perhaps not—“

Tina emerged from her bedroom carrying a pair of black shoes above her head.

Queenie smiled over her breakfast. “Found ‘em?”

“In the closet!”

“Who woulda guessed?”

Jacob handed a mug of coffee over to Tina, who glanced at her watch as she sipped. The taste of the coffee coupled with the time nearly caused her to choke.

“Shoot, we gotta go!”

Newt struggled to his feet. “Are we not apparating?”

“Gonna walk Jacob to work!” Queenie grinned, scampering in her heels to the door with said no-maj close behind.

_Oh…_

Newt smiled. He hoped the disappointment wasn’t evident on his face. His legs already felt like jelly. “Of course. Eager to exchange venomous runespoor for pastries I imagine?”

Jacob waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, the jungle is great! … But yeah, I really _really_ am.”

Queenie squeezed Jacob’s shoulders. “He’s worried everything’s gone topsy-turvy while we was takin’ care of things.”

“Aw c’mon now—“

As Jacob turned to assure Queenie that he trusted her unreservedly, Tina paused next to Newt to slip on her shoes. “You all right to walk? If you’re not up to it—“

“I’m fine,” Newt blurted, saving face winning out against self-preservation.

Tina stood and summoned everyone’s coats. “You got breakfast?”

Newt performed something similar to a nod while staring blankly ahead. Everyone pulled on their winter things. He’d had every opportunity—as his head and gut and legs all demanded to be heard—to speak up and retreat and spend the day resting rather than running about being social and acting as close to normal as was within his skill set, but his lips remained firmly shut.

“Okay! Let’s go, let’s go,” Tina opened the door and herded her sister and Jacob out. Newt lingered a moment.

“Newt?”

It was just a quick trip. He was barely a month into this. He had time. Lots of time. He was fine. No need to worry.

“Sorry. Coming!”

The four spilled onto the street sixty seconds later and Newt was already winded. The stairs were definitely higher and longer than they’d been the night before, he was certain of it. It took a little more effort than usual to will his uncooperative and clumsy legs into a semi-believable walking gesture, but he somehow managed, and there was no turning back now.

The morning commute in New York City was hectic to say the least and utter madness if one was going for a tactful analysis. On his best day Newt would have found it difficult to avoid every pedestrian, car, carriage, food cart, bicycle, stray cat, dog, and the occasional pigeon swarm, but with his mind not fully tethered just _existing_ on the street appeared to pose a risk of serious bodily harm.

Still, they managed to see Jacob to his bakery with no major incidents (with the minor exception of Newt’s near disastrous collision with the local newsboy). Queenie bought a few demiguise pastries (which—having been crafted by Jacob’s assistant—she assured him were not nearly as magical as his own), some hugs and brief farewells were exchanged, and with nary a moment to swallow back his growing nausea, Newt was ushered off again toward MACUSA headquarters.

Newt was sure that by the time they reached the front doors of the sky-high building, hours if not days had passed in a dizzy, chilly, queasy blur. Tina said something to the doorman and then he was stumbling inside and up the extravagant staircase of the spacious front lobby. The magizoologist managed a quick glance skyward to take in the seemingly endless floors above, but vertigo promptly put an end to those sorts of extreme head movements. No, today _up_ and _down_ were firmly beyond his range of eye mobility. Straight ahead or nothing. Preferably nothing, actually.

“—mostly the same, but we upgraded the memo charms. The Brits from IMC helped us out on that one.”

Newt tuned back in, catching enough of Tina’s statement to attempt a nod that didn’t incorporate too much head movement.

“Oh, Teenie,” Queenie bobbed on her heels, “tell him about the new department!”

Tina brightened. “Right! I mean it’s not new so much as, y’know, rearranged—you had a lot to do with it, actually—“

“I did?”

“Yeah! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you—guess we got a bit distracted last night—Graves was even thinking of writin’ to you about it—“

“Goldstein!”

Both Tina and Queenie turned at their shouted surname. The man approaching pointed a finger to Tina.

“ _That_ Goldstein,” he specified. “Though Abernathy’s gonna start throwin’ jinxes if he don’t get his coffee soon, Queenie.”

Queenie smiled through the rolling of her eyes, but turned back to the approaching Auror with a pleasant nod anyway. “See you both later!” she called back, heading for the elevators.

“What’s the matter, Kilroy?” Tina addressed her co-worker, and Newt couldn’t help but notice that she was far more at ease now. More authoritative and less jumpy, now that she’d been reinstated as an Auror.

Kilroy’s eyes rested on Newt for only a moment. “Break in the trafficking case. We’re meetin’ in an hour but Wallace wants to brief you first.”

“Shoot,” Tina frowned, which drew a perplexed reaction from Kilroy. “No, no, I mean it’s good, but—you gonna be all right if I disappear for a bit, Newt?”

Newt choked back a little laugh, half at his luck at being freed this early into the ill-conceived excursion and half at the idea that he would somehow come to harm if he remained without constant supervision, especially standing in the middle of the Magical Congress of the Unites States of America. He tried to pass the reaction off as a tickle in his throat and nodded.

“Of course, go ahead,” he smiled, “you’re an Auror, not my tour guide. Important things to be done.”

Tina half-smiled. “Head home if you gotta, this might take some time.”

He nodded again, keeping his tight smile in place as he watched her leave, until she turned to her fellow Auror and the two disappeared into the levels below. Newt let his smile drop with a sigh and quickly began searching for the nearest bench.

The main lobby was still filled to bursting with the morning rush and whatever seating was available was already occupied. Newt finally spied a quiet corner with an armchair that looked like a heavenly spot to rest and wait for his friends. He put his tired legs to work one more time.

“Excuse me!”

Newt may have ignored the single voice among hundreds if not for the tap on his shoulder that brought him to a dizzying halt. He turned to see two young women, both smiling and staring at him in a sort of excitable way that made him feel very out of place.

“Y-yes?” he asked, eyes darting. He supposed they must have him confused for someone who worked there.

“You’re Mr. Scamander, right?”

_What have I done now?_

“Ah, yes, and you are?”

“Big fans!” The other woman blurted, reaching for his cold, pale hand and giving it a vigorous shake. Newt stiffened, caught entirely off guard by the gesture, and even moreso by the recognition. The woman kept a grasp on his hand as she continued to talk. “I’ve read your book cover to cover Mr. Scamander and boy did it open my eyes!”

“Oh,” was all Newt could offer to that, though a nervous smile had at least managed to form across his face.

“I had no idea there were so many magical creatures out there! I been going out to look for ‘em now, usin’ your book as a guide.”

Newt nodded. “Oh,” he said again, “to observe, I hope—?”

“Right! Wish we had a magic zoo like the no-majs got in Central Park.”

“Those do exist, though the ones I’ve seen have not been altogether _humane_ —“

“Think I saw a sphinx on Staten Island last week.”

Newt’s spinning head was worsening, forced to look between each woman as they spoke over one another. He pulled his hand free from the endless shaking and placed it against his temple. “That would be… quite unlikely. If you’ve read the chapter on sphinxes you’ll note they’re native to—“

“Mr. Scamander? Is that Newt Scamander?”

Newt took a step back, a chill of apprehension running through him.

The women turned, nodding enthusiastically. “It is! The Fantastic Beasts guy!”

“Could we have your autograph, Mr. Scamander?”

The world was becoming a little blurred around the edges. Newt felt his heart starting to race, and he wasn’t altogether certain it was just nerves. His stomach churned and head pounded as a few other passersby picked up on his name and made the link. Soon there was a bit of a crowd forming, blocking off any means of escape. His breath hitched, unable to do much more than smile and fidget as there were too many overlapping questions and comments to respond to each in turn.

He felt something pressed into his hands and though his mind was wandering, he managed to scribble out his signature, or something close to it, onto various pages of his book.

His mouth was dry now. The world was starting to spin to a distracting degree. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult with so many bodies on all sides of him.

A flash caught him off guard and he took a stumbling step backward. Someone caught his bony elbow and held him upright, but Newt’s attention was firmly on the photographer and journalist now pushing their way through the throng.

“Gail Whistler from the New York Ghost, Mr. Scamander, what brings you back to the States and our great city?”

Newt could no longer speak. The building was fast growing dim and the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears was beginning to drown out the voices all around him.

“Is there another beast on the loose, Newt?”

A few more camera flashes blinded him further.

“Mr. Scamander, did you bring your famous suitcase?”

The photographer pressed further forward and waved an arm, his gaze fixing on something behind the magizoologist. “Could we get you in the photo as well, Mr. Graves?”

It took a moment for Newt to register the familiar name, and that someone was still holding him upright. He turned, noting with alarm that Percival Graves was standing directly behind him, his strong grip still encircling the younger man’s upper arm.

Graves turned to look at the photographer briefly and the camera flashed before any official permission was given. At that point his patience had run thin and he yanked Newt backward, not unkindly, toward the elevators. His clipped smile and dismissive hand-waving was enough to inform the public that the celebrity encounter was at an end, though he spoke to the last remaining stragglers as he pulled Newt alongside him.

“That’s enough now, thank you. Mr. Scamander is a busy man. If you’ll excuse us.”

The elevator doors closed and Newt stared forward with very little acknowledgement of his surroundings.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Graves,” he said after a moment, not taking his eyes from the doors ahead. His voice sounded and felt very far away. “Thank you for the rescue.”

Newt was barely there when Percival led him from the elevator to the main floor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was a huge wide room as far as Newt could tell from his suddenly spotty vision, filled with desks and a number of blurry bodies coming and going.

“I’m not sure the rescue is finished quite yet,” Graves said, coming to a halt.

Newt was trembling now. His nausea was rising fast along with the dizzy tunnel vision.

“Who’s that, Graves?”

“That Scamander? He back?”

“Something happen, boss?”

Percival’s office was too far away still, and he could see that Newt was not going to make it that far. He stepped away to retrieve a chair as several Aurors crept in to question the mysterious celebrity. Graves turned back just in time to see Newt’s shivering body start to sway. The man’s eyelids fluttered.

“Step back,” Graves interjected, his chair hunt abandoned. “He’s going to faint.”

The Aurors shared a few confused glances as, sure enough, the young man crumpled a second later. Percival Graves caught him before he could touch the floor.


	5. Roads More Traveled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt spends more time in Percival Graves's office than would make any person comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! ... Or at least congeals, slightly.
> 
> Gotta say, your awesome comments and kudos (kudoses? Kudoseseses?) have really encouraged me to keep writing during a pretty deadline-filled couple of weeks, so thank you all very much! Hope you enjoy!

He was cold. Very cold. And someone was talking to him from behind a black shroud. Hovering in space, he noted a four-legged figure speed out of sight.

“Can you hear me, honey?”

Someone touched his cheek, and then his forehead, and the shroud pulled back.

“Come on now, that’s it. Come on back.”

Newt was on his back in a dimly-lit room. The walls were dark and wooden and a few newspaper clippings were framed and hanging between large shelves which were over-filled with books of all sizes. Newt found himself focusing on the books and wondering what he might like to read. He failed to notice the older woman seated next to him until she again brushed a hand against his forehead.

“There we go. Are you back with us now, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt furrowed his brow, and then sat up with no warning. He was heaving before he understood where he was or what had happened, but the woman seemed to have anticipated this outcome, and shoved a basin beneath his chin just in time to catch the meager stomach contents.

The young man became very suddenly aware of just how awful he felt. His head was throbbing worse than before, his throat on fire, his leg wound awake and angry, and the world was still spinning out of control. The returning dizziness must have been apparent on his face, as he was gently pressed back down onto whatever surface he’d found himself lying.

“Not too fast. Dizzy?”

Newt closed his eyes, nodding.

“Anything else?”

Newt swallowed. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Head,” he managed.

“Bad pain?”

He nodded a second time. His breathing was laboured as he tried very hard to bring the nausea under control.

“All right sweetie, when you think you’re able, sit up and drink a potion for me.”

He wasn’t able to move for another few minutes, but eventually he felt brave enough to prop himself up on his elbow. He downed the bitter potion as quickly as he could, knowing full well that his illness may cause his body to reject it outright. But he seemed to be spared that, for the moment, and as the pain and nausea quelled enough to breathe normally, Newt sighed and allowed himself to lay back again with relief.

Silence encroached for a little while and Newt almost fell asleep, until the woman spoke again.

“I was told you’ve been traveling recently. Do you mind telling me where?”

Newt moaned a little as the word formed. “Africa,” he said. He was aware enough now to understand where her line of questioning might be headed. “I took all the precautionary travel potions. I’ve not contracted anything,” he informed.

It was a lie, but truth enough to answer her question. His ailment was of no danger to anyone else, and nothing the healer had on hand would be of any use, so no sense in wasting any more of her supplies.

“All right,” she frowned. “When was the last time you had anything to eat, Mr. Scamander?”

He considered lying, but in all honesty he would rather be chastised for the careless neglect of his body’s needs than explain he was dying from a bite from a legendary animal she’d certainly never heard of.

“Few days ago,” he informed, feigning sheepishness. “Stomach has been a bit off from ocean travel.”

He was going to have to buy a houseboat just to continue using that excuse.

The woman frowned in a sort of worried way and accio’d a little package from her bag. She unwrapped a square of something candied in nature and held it out to him. Newt’s stomach firmly disagreed with this idea and he waved her off.

“Mr. Scamander, if you ever want to escape Mr. Graves’s office you’re going to need a little sugar boost.”

Newt tensed, turning his head maybe a little too quickly upon realizing there was another person in the room. Percival Graves sat in a chair next to his desk, staring at him with a strange look of grim concern mixed with curiousity. Though Newt continued to shiver, such close proximity to the head Auror made him feel very suddenly overheated.

He relented and took the little square of what tasted like a chewy pineapple. A glass of water was then placed on a table next to him.

“You’ll want to drink that slowly before you get up again. You’re also quite dehydrated.”

“Thank you,” Newt said, smile tight. “I will.”

“And eat something. Soon. Broth, if your stomach is still being ornery, but _something_. I can plainly see you’re underweight and should not be skipping meals for days at a time.”

Despite the situation being rather out of his hands, Newt still felt thoroughly cowed. He averted his eyes with the nod of a guilty child.

The woman sighed, patted her legs, and stood. Graves also got to his feet and handed her the supply bag.

“He really ought to be taken to a hospital,” she said with a sigh, “he’s got a bit of a fever. This could be something more than hunger.”

“I’m sure if anything changes he’ll be taking that advice,” Graves said, eying Newt.

The younger man tried not to wince under that stare.

The healer closed her supply bag with a final glance at the patient and stepped out of the Auror’s office. Graves quietly shut the door behind her and turned to Newt, staring silently for a moment. The younger man felt very suddenly small and vulnerable, despite this being the real Graves. The man definitely had an imposing personality even without the addition of a secret dark wizard hidden within.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.

The question was probably more along the lines of ‘are you able’, but Newt took it as an order. With a grimace, he hoisted himself upright. The potion and sweet had helped enough that his vision was no longer swimming out of control, though he still felt dazed and shaky.

Graves took the seat the healer had been occupying. Newt had a difficult time reading his expression when the man handed him the glass of water.

“Drink that.”

The short statements were putting Newt on edge. He took the water in his still trembling hands and sipped carefully. Percival watched, and the younger man wanted very much to disappear.

When he’d last seen Mr. Graves, on his second trip to New York, the man had very recently been discovered locked away in that very building. Had Newt not suggested the use of a werewolf’s impeccable sense of smell in locating the missing wizard—a notion that had been at first met with extreme opposition by the still rather prejudice higher-ups—the forgotten storage rooms on the lowest level of the MACUSA building may have ended up as Percival’s tomb. The Auror had been under a powerful sleeping charm which had kept him alive beyond what a wizard’s body would have been able to otherwise withstand, but the man had still been in a dire state.

Newt wondered if Percival even recalled the stormy evening he’d visited him in hospital.

His water was half finished and the silence was becoming a tad overwhelming.

“Your… recovery went well then?” he asked. His voice was still a bit choked. “No lasting damage?”

Newt immediately regretted the question. That was maybe a bit too personal. He averted his eyes straight away.

“Fully recovered,” Percival said. “And I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

Newt smiled meekly and shook his head. He stared at the floor. “No, no, I really had very little to do with it—I’d only just returned—“

“A werewolf,” Percival breathed sharply through his nose, “I didn’t believe them when they told me. MACUSA has never been on friendly terms with them. Apparently you changed some important minds.”

“It was nothing,” Newt breathed. “The werewolf did all the work.”

Percival half-smiled, though Newt still felt he might be getting on the man’s nerves. He took another sip of water.

“Well you look… much improved, in any case,” Newt said.

Graves got to his feet and wandered back to his desk. “I am. You, however, don’t look well at all.” He sat down in his chair and picked up a quill that had been quietly writing. “Should I have made you take that healer’s advice?”

“No,” Newt said, forcing himself to his feet. He spotted his coat hanging on a rack and swiftly grabbed for it. “I’m fine. Really.”

The younger man felt he was very obviously becoming a nuisance now, especially as Graves had already seemingly gone back to work.

“Thank you again, Mr. Graves,” Newt said, grasping the door handle. “Very sorry to have taken up so much of your time. I’ll be on my way then…”

“Could you spare a few minutes more?” Percival asked, looking up from his papers.

Newt halted, shivering hand lifting away from his means of escape. “Ah—I’m sorry?”

“If you’re feeling well enough, I mean,” Graves said, gesturing for Newt to retake his seat. “I just have a few questions.”

The magizoologist was very suddenly feeling he was back in an interrogation room with Percival’s doppelganger. The memory of that moment left him feeling faint enough again that he sat down in spite of it.

“How can I help, Mr. Graves?” he asked, surprised that his voice remained calm.

“Are you currently employed, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt blinked. “Occasionally. With the Ministry of Magic. I’ve been on leave for my research, but have an offer to transfer to the Beast Division of Magical Creatures.”

Percival frowned. “Have you accepted?”

“No,” Newt hesitated. He hadn’t accepted because he’d been attacked by death itself. His future employment prospects hadn’t been a top concern. He’d almost forgotten the Ministry was still waiting for an answer. “Not yet, no.”

Graves smiled. “Good. I’m sure Ms. Goldstein informed you of our recently-expanded Magical Species department.”

Newt put the pieces together. She had certainly tried to. He smiled back. “She mentioned it, yes.”

“Well I’m sure you’re aware that MACUSA’s Body for Protection of Magical Species has, historically, concerned itself less with protecting and more on containment, control, and… extermination.”

Newt pursed his lips. “I’m aware…”

“We’d like to change that,” Percival slid a paper across the desk, which contained in lengthy detail the new outline and mission statement of the Magical Species department. “After recent events it’s become evident that the wizarding community would benefit from a more cooperative approach with these creatures. In light of the information provided in your book, we’ve realized a number of them could prove extremely useful to our operations.”

Newt frowned at that and opened his mouth to respond, but Percival caught him. “Not _exploitation_ , Mr. Scamander. Mutually beneficial collaboration. We protect the species. Educate the public. Train the creatures that can work with us. Even extend the olive branch to misunderstood hybrids, like werewolves.”

The magizoologist locked eyes for a moment, the look on his face making his skepticism clear. Newt had few reasons to trust governing bodies where magical creatures were concerned. Sure, his book had awarded him a few letters from ministry leaders with opened minds and eager follow-up questions, but there was still a long road ahead. Perhaps a road too long for his failing body to make it to the end.

Graves could see he wasn’t winning the younger man over.

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Scamander,” he said, pulling the paper back and clasping his hands on the desk. “In my time as director of Magical Security I’ve come across countless cases involving magical creatures. Dark wizards aren’t stupid. Why get your hands dirty when you can have a beast do the work for you? But this isn’t my area of expertise, and it always ends the same way. We call in BPMS and they destroy the creature. No research. No attempt to capture. The threat is pinpointed, and the threat is eliminated.”

Newt shook his head. “That really does nothing to stop the practice. It only punishes the creatures, which are often bred illegally, in… _cruel_ conditions, and with little understanding of—“

“I know,” Percival raised a hand, smiling slightly at the docile man’s suddenly flaring temper. “I know. _Exactly_. And this approach doesn’t help me in the long run either. The wizards usually get away and all we’ve got are dead beasts and dead ends.”

Graves leaned back again. “This department expansion was my idea, and I’ve been petitioning for it hard since I’ve been back on the job. The Barebones kid, your thunderbird, the werewolf—you, Mr. Scamander. We can make big changes here. But I need an expert. I need you on board.”

Newt’s anger had fled and his mouth had gone dry. Big changes. That had been his life’s goal thus far. The road would be long, yes, but perhaps it was his duty to begin paving it.

“And I would be a consultant of some sort?” Newt asked, his voice hoarse.

Graves smiled again. “No. You’d be the director.”

The younger man’s eyes widened. He shifted forward as though he was planning to stand, but instead he just grabbed his knees and flexed his fingers.

“That’s… an… imposing responsibility. I’m not certain I have the, ah… I’m not an American citizen, and my work back in England—”

“It would be a large undertaking, yes. Ideally we’d have you as a consultant until you’d gotten all of your affairs in order. Eventually you’d take over the department.”

Newt stared ahead, running it through his busy mind. He noted his hand was now shaking against his face and quickly placed it back in his lap. Death was coming. But death came to everyone. He had time. He could make a difference while he trudged toward the grave. He had time…

“If you need some time—“

“No…”

“No? Mr. Scamander, I—”

Newt blinked out of his reverie, and then straightened, smile breaking out. “No! I mean no, no time. I mean, rather, yes. Yes I’ll do it. Of course, yes.”

Percival Graves let out a relieved sigh that became a breathy laugh, but he stifled it with a formal nod and extended a hand. Newt eyed it quizzically, still more than a bit intimidated, but inched his own hand forward enough that Graves finished the gesture with a firm shake.

“Very glad to hear it,” the older man said. “I’ll arrange the necessary meetings and paperwork; owl you with further information within the next couple of days—you’re still staying with the Goldsteins?”

“Yes, for now—“

Newt had found his feet again and was willing his body to stay in that position when the door opened. One of the aforementioned Goldsteins spilled into the room, clasping the ginger-haired man by the arms.

“Newt, god, they said you fainted?” Tina eyed him like she was searching for evidence of recent unconsciousness.

“I—just a little?”

Tina glared. “You fainted a _little?_ ”

“I’m perfectly all right.”

“Oh, you are, are you? Is he all right?” Tina directed her question to Graves, as she was obviously done trusting Newt where accurate information about his current state of health was concerned.

Percival also got to his feet. “I think he’ll live, Ms. Goldstein.”

Newt’s lips quirked at the unfortunate statement.

“I’ll speak to you again soon, Mr. Scamander,” Graves said, holding the door and gesturing that they were free to go. “He’s all yours, Tina.”

Either ignoring the casual use of her name, or actually being a closer friend to the man than Newt might have expected, Tina merely nodded and pulled Newt out of the director’s office. The young man found his legs somewhat uncooperative at first, but eventually got them collaborating with the rest of his body. He received a few curious looks as he was dragged toward the elevators.

“I can’t believe you fainted on Graves!”

“I don’t believe I fainted _on_ him,” Newt frowned. “Where are we going? I thought your team needed you today?”

Tina greeted Red and requested a floor. “They do. I’m takin’ you to Queenie and she’s gonna take you home, where you’re gonna sleep in a bed for the rest of the day.”

“That sounds very boring.”

“You should have told me you were feeling sick, Newt.”

Newt eyed the goblin, and then lowered his voice. “I’m always going to be feeling sick, Tina.”

She looked hurt at that, though Newt was holding her gaze and attempting something of a—albeit rather sad—smile. She forced a similar smile back and nodded.

“So how did Graves take it?”

Newt quirked a brow. “Take?”

“When you turned down the job? He told me he was gonna offer. I was pretty excited at the idea of working with you, but that was before I found out about… y’know. Job like that would wear a _healthy_ person into the ground—”

“I said yes.”

Tina’s eyes widened and though her expression of alarm was both expected and rather amusing, Newt bowed his head and looked away as though that would actually work to escape the conversation.

“You are so lucky I’m busy right now,” she hissed, stepping off the elevator.

Newt grinned. His eyes were again on his shoes but he could hear Queenie’s heels approaching.

Tina squeezed his arm a little harder. “I’m gonna tell you why you’re completely crazy when I get home.”

“I expect you will, yes.”

Tina handed Newt off to her sister. “Get him home, Queenie. And make sure he eats.” She pointed a finger at Newt as she returned to the elevator. “She’ll know if you don’t!”

“Sure, Teenie…” Queenie said, confusion in her tone. She turned to the magizoologist with a giggle. “Well it sure don’t take you long to find trouble, honey.”

Newt grinned.

Queenie had, in the past couple of years, been getting much better at understanding British thoughts.

Her brows raised.

“ _Newt!_ ”


	6. A Month-Old Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt listens to his friends' concerns and then promptly does something they wouldn't approve of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Sorry for the delay. I've had the majority of this chapter written for ages, but hit some major writer's block. Finally forced myself to slog over the wall, so hopefully what I have planned next will come a little easier now.
> 
> Your continued support is so very much appreciated. Thank you again! 8D

“Oh! We didn’t expect you home so soon.”

Tina shuffled into the apartment, dropping her bag and tossing her coat to one side where it fluttered off to find a rack. The shoes followed in similar fashion, back to the closet to disappear for another day. The petite Auror sighed and found a seat next to Jacob and Queenie.

“We wrapped things up on the case. Is it that early?”

Queenie eased herself out of Jacob’s embrace and gave him a knowing wink. “Earlier than we was expectin’.”

Tina wrinkled her nose at her sister and shook her head before attempting to ask the question that had been on her mind all afternoon.

Queenie cut in. “He’s fine, honey. He’s in the tub.”

“In the tub? He okay to be in there alone?” Tina was already back on her feet, “After what happened this morning—“

“Whoa, hey,” Jacob leaned forward and raised a hand for calm. “He’s fine. Queenie set some rules.”

“Rules?”

Queenie delicately lifted her teacup and sipped. “He’s letting me listen.”

Tina stared for a moment before snorting with laughter. She issued a silent congratulation to her sister for accomplishing the impossible and reclaimed her seat, helping herself to the pot of tea.

“Got home okay then?”

Queenie nodded. “Mm-hmm! Apart from the shakes he was good all afternoon. Speakin’ a mile a minute about this new job while I helped him with the creatures. Was kind of a handful, actually.”

Tina tried to hide her frown. That particular subject had also been on her mind all afternoon; increasingly so as word got out that Newt had accepted Graves’s offer. There seemed to be an equal mix of those in favour of the change and those stubbornly reluctant to embrace progress. She’d found herself defending Newt more than once on the principal that there really was no better person for the job, but internally kicked herself for encouraging what she was certain would send him to an even earlier grave.

They drank their tea in silence for a few minutes, and then Queenie hummed and patted Jacob’s knee.

“He needs some help.”

Tina was once again on her feet in a flurry, but Queenie shook her head. “He ain’t fully dressed, Teenie, he’s embarrassed.” She turned to Jacob. “He’s havin’ trouble with his bandages.”

Jacob stretched and eased himself forward. “I’m on it.”

The girls watched Jacob head off for the bathroom. Tina turned to the teacup on the table in front of her and made a spoon stir the liquid in lazy circles.

“Did he eat?”

Queenie lowered her eyes. “He tried some soup.”

“Tried?”

“It’s okay Teenie, he kept it down. Just wasn’t much is all.”

Tina sighed and leaned back, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. “I don’t like it. It was hard enough to get him to take care of himself before. How’s he gonna run around the city chasing magical creatures and dueling dark wizards on a few spoonfuls of broth, huh? And what if we’re not around to force _that_ into him? And when’s he gonna sleep? Sleep’s important when you’re sick—“

“You his girlfriend or his mother, Teenie?” Queenie laughed.

Tina blushed and tried to hide behind the pillow. “Honestly, I don’t think I’m either…”

Queenie leaned forward and pinched her sister’s knee. “You just need to be patient, honey.” She sat back again. A cheeky grin had spread across her face.

Tina readied the pillow.

The blonde looked up with a giggle. “Adoption’s a time-consumin’ process!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey Newt?” Jacob rapped on the bathroom door. He caught some disgruntled mumbling on the other side. “Queenie said you could use some help.”

“I’m quite all right, thank you.”

“That ain’t what you’ve been broadcastin’.”

Jacob waited a minute more, sure that he could now hear some dismayed muttering about making deals with a Legilimens. This was followed up by a thud, a splash, and something clattering to the floor.

“C’mon Newt, it’s just a bandage. I’m coming in.”

A sigh, and then “yes, all right.”

Jacob opened the door and slipped inside. He immediately felt water underfoot, and looked down to see the majority of the floor had been covered. The water was worryingly tinged with occasional streaks of red.

Newt was sitting on a chair next to the tub, wearing only his underclothes, which consisted of loose shorts and an almost comically large undershirt. In fact, he was pretty sure that Newt was wearing _his_ undershirt, which, now noting that most of Newt’s clean clothes were in fact laying on the floor in the middle of Lake Bathroom, did make sense.

“Slipped a bit on the way out.” Newt tried to play off the statement with a self-deprecating smile, but Jacob could tell the young man was annoyed that it had happened.

“Yeah,” Jacob smiled, looking around at the flood. “Just a bit.”

“I’m sorry, I borrowed your—“

Jacob held up a hand. “Not a problem.”

“I also left my wand in the other room,” Newt added. “Silly of me.”

“No-maj to the rescue then,” Jacob smiled and moved forward through the soggy chaos. He spotted the bandages on a side table, thankfully out of harm’s way, but apparently too far for a wobbly magizoologist to risk the journey.

Sacrificing his own clothes (which wasn’t as big of a travesty these days, with magic now a cleaning option), Jacob knelt in the bloody puddle and examined Newt’s leg.

It was a mess, to put it lightly. What had been two small rows of needle pricks the first day had, after more than a month, turned into a yawning gash a few inches across the front of the man’s right lower leg. The skin around the wound was a dark purple colour, while the interior was red and angry. Jacob winced at the sight of it, which made Newt fidget.

“Does it hurt?”

Newt eyed the swirling red tendrils in the water at his feet. “Not overly. It comes and goes.”

Jacob nodded and lifted the roll of gauze.

“Oh,” Newt appeared to return from wherever he’d been daydreaming. “Sorry. In my coat pocket. Essence of Dittany.”

“Essence of what-any?”

“Healing herb. I keep it for my creatures mostly, but it’s come in handy once or twice to stave off my own imminent death.”

Jacob gave the freckled man a bit of a glare at the thought that, for him, facing death was nothing new, and sifted through the soggy coat. He pulled out a little phial of brown liquid.

“Just a few drops,” Newt said, wincing as he extended his leg closer to Jacob.

The no-maj did as instructed, causing a violent shudder to run through the other.

“Sorry!”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Just a twinge.”

Jacob furrowed his brow, capping the phial and preparing to apply the bandages. As he did so, the angry wound lightened ever so slightly. The bruising dimmed and the flesh dried a little, but the gash itself remained otherwise just as fearsomely large as before. Still, it was an impressive change as far as Jacob was concerned.

Newt’s shuddering intensified as his friend wrapped his leg, the pain having given way to a general feeling of weakness and cold.

Jacob secured the gauze and took in the state of the younger man. He was as white as a sheet and shivering as though they were both sitting in an ice box. The too-loose undergarments did nothing to conceal his frail appearance. He looked very far from ‘fine’.

“Right. I’ll grab your wand and get Queenie on some more tea.”

Jacob tried not to let the sight of his sick friend—skinny and damp and cold and shaking—get the best of him. He got to his feet with an exaggerated grunt and a grin.

“Thank you Jacob.”

The no-maj paused at the door. Newt’s blue eyes were wide and fixed on his own. Jacob knew it took a lot for the fiercely independent young man to ask for help. Newt paid little attention to his own needs. The freckled beast expert had always played the caretaker, not the patient. And if he’d ever found himself in need of first aid, he’d always dealt with it himself, as promptly and as privately as could be managed.

Jacob nodded.

“Yeah, anytime. What’re friends for, right?”

 

* * *

 

 

Newt sighed and permitted himself to savour the feeling of a cool pillow beneath his head. The clean skin and freshly-laundered pajamas were just the icing on the cake. Unfortunately, this metaphorical cake was a month old and the icing was painful in its sweetness and his body refused to relax at all despite a crushing weight of weariness that grew with every passing hour.

His day had suffered from a rougher than usual start, but had ended at least a little better than he’d anticipated. After the complications with his bandages, the girls and Jacob had taken care of his clothes and the mess in the bathroom, set him down with some tea, and discussed Newt’s new job at MACUSA. The magizoologist had at that point readied himself for an argument, but his friends were oddly understanding.

_“I know why you gotta do it,” Tina said. “It’s what you’ve always wanted, and it’s… it’ll be your last chance to do it…”_

_Tina stopped talking then, and Queenie took over._

_“We just wanna make sure you’re not sufferin’ too bad, sweetie. So we got a couple requests.”_

Newt had experienced a renewed fear of confrontation then, but the requests were not… completely unreasonable.

_“We want you to talk to a healer,” Tina blurted._

_Newt straightened. “But as I’ve said—“_

_“To manage the symptoms. We know this thing is gonna fight back, but there’s gotta be somethin’ you can do to make it easier. Wouldn’t hurt to talk to somebody, right?”_

_In fact, Newt thought it would hurt very much, in an inconvenienced, embarrassing sort of way. He hated being poked and prodded and scrutinized. And it would take a very specific healer to provide any sort of insight or useful therapies for an illness as unique as his._

_But if it made his friends happy…_

_“Yes… all right. I’ll try to find someone knowledgeable.”_

_He began to fidget with the handle of his teacup. ‘Requests’ had definitely been plural. There was more coming and the worst was generally saved for last._

_“We’d also like for you to…”_

_Newt gradually lifted his gaze. Tina and Queenie were averting theirs._

_Jacob decided to field this one. He scrubbed back his hair with a sigh. “You gotta tell this Graves guy the truth, Newt. He needs to know what’s goin’ on.”_

Oh.

_“No! Not—not yet, please. I’d lose this opportunity—“_

_“He’s gonna figure something’s up, Newt,” Tina countered. “It’s his job, figurin’ things out. He’s good at it. And he’s not gonna be happy to find out you kept this from him. If you tell him now, there’s still a chance you can be a part of this. But if you wait…”_

_Newt bowed his head and grabbed at his hair with both hands. He knew she was right, but another serious face-to-face with Percival Graves in regards to his health was the last thing in the world on which he fancied spending even a moment of his fleeting time._

_His voice was just above a whisper when he sighed out an “okay”._

_“Newt?”_

_He pulled his eyes up, scrubbing at his face. “Of course, you’re right. I’ll tell him…”_

He’d excused himself to bed after that, and since then his exhausted body had remained stubbornly conscious. Newt was a mix of excitement and impatience, but added to that now was—of all things— _worry._ He hated that anxious thinking had started to become a part of his regular routine. What was the point of it? He already knew the worst conceivable outcome. What good could possibly come from mulling over every other potential mishap along the way?

The magizoologist flipped onto his side, bunching his blankets together next to his face. His pillow was no longer cool. His clean skin was beginning to feel the salty caress of sweat from ever-present fever. The room was no longer a soft and peaceful quiet. Now the silence was grating. The room had no right to be so _quiet_. The smell of his freshly-laundered pajamas was making him queasy.

A few minutes later, the blankets were kicked away.

The tap-tap-tapping that followed had Newt sitting up and half-falling, half-staggering to the floor to search for whatever he’d knocked to the ground. His wand? Or his pocket watch, maybe…

The tapping came again and, groggily, he found himself confused for a moment at how he’d managed to knock something off the nightstand a second time when he was now several feet away. Lifting his tired eyes, Newt grinned at the owl seated on the window sill.

“Just a moment please,” Newt raised a hand calling for the bird’s patience and began the creaky process of returning to his feet. There was a slight rush to his head but it passed quickly enough to allow for the opening of the window. He retrieved a small scroll of parchment from the barn owl’s ankle and tossed a dead mouse—summoned from his coat pocket, which contained no small amount of unpleasant treats for hungry monsters—to the feathered messenger.

Newt sat on the bed, shivering a little from the breeze now creeping in, and unrolled the note.

_Mr. Scamander –_

_I apologize for the late notice and understand if you are unable to receive this message or attend to the matter contained here within. Roughly an hour ago, my Aurors stumbled upon a unicorn trafficking operation housed within the Bronx Zoo. The animals are unsurprisingly upset and I’m being pushed to turn the case over to BPMS—_

Newt didn’t finish the message from Mr. Graves before he was back on his feet and summoning his clothing. When he finished dressing, he began the motion to apparate, but stopped himself with a grunt when he realized he had no real idea of his destination.

_Damn._

He needed help.

The ginger-haired man frowned, knowing that Tina would not be at all happy with him heading out in the middle of the night after an already eventful day. Queenie might be more understanding, but she would also be able to summon the truth from him when pressed on whether or not he actually felt well enough to do this.

Only one option then.

 

* * *

 

 

Jacob had returned home late. He’d sat down on his creaky little bed, kicked off his shoes, and laid back with a sigh and a smile, drifting off to sleep before he’d changed out of the day’s clothes. He’d just begun a dream about a lemon-haired zeppole with blueberry eyes and cherry lips when something claw-like grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back into the waking world.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

“What in the—“ Jacob started, rubbing at his face. He sat up and blinked against the light from the table lamp. “Newt? Newt what are you doing—?”

The magizoologist had fallen back against the wall, a hand held to his face as he tried to regain his composure from apparating.

“The Bronx Zoo,” he muttered, waving a hand at the window, feeling for whatever reason that this was all the information Jacob needed to provide him with a suitable answer.

His friend’s disorientation and babbling worked to immediately clear Jacob’s head. The baker sprung to his feet.

“Newt, what’re you doing here?”

“I need to get to the Bronx Zoo.” Newt managed to steady himself and took a breath. “Please Jacob, could you tell me where it is?”

Jacob eyed his locked door and the still-shut window. Newt must have apparated; and from what he understood (which was admittedly not much), that took a fair amount of concentration and energy to avoid injury. He closed the distance between his bed and his friend and pressed a hand to Newt’s forehead, despite the way the smaller man flinched back.

“You’re pretty hot. C’mon, we need to get you back—“

“No!” Newt sidestepped over to the window. He raised both hands and stared the other down. “I’m sorry, I’ll do this with your help or without it, but I _must_ do this.”

“Newt, this is insane, it’s the middle of the night—“

“The Bronx Zoo.”

“You’re serious?”

“Quite serious, yes.”

Jacob sighed and pressed against his aching head. “I think I have a map…”

“Thank you Jacob.”

“ _Don’t_ thank me,” Jacob shook his head and walked to a small shelf filled with several books and knickknacks. He found a few old maps and began to unfold them. “The girls are gonna kill me.”

Finding the right map, Jacob pointed out the Bronx and the zoo within it. It took Newt a moment to find a location nearby that he recognized—he was still far from experienced with the sprawling city—but it was close enough that the walk wouldn’t be terribly arduous.

He didn’t speak another word before he backed into the corner and straightened. Jacob knew what he planned to do next.

“Whoa whoa whoa, stop! No, no, hang on, I’m going with you.”

Newt’s eyes widened, stumbling from the interruption. “Jacob, this is a MACUSA operation. You’re still not technically meant to be… _aware_ of any of this.”

“We both know that secret’s long past out.”

“Graves will be there.”

Jacob stretched and took a few steps across the small room, standing next to Newt. He took the man’s rigid arm. “Good. ‘Bout time I met the version that ain’t a murderous nutjob.”

Newt sighed, knowing it was this or nothing.

“Let me do the talking, and keep your distance from the unicorns. Men make them uneasy.”

“Unicorns? _Really?!—_ ”

Jacob’s voice was cut off by a sharp crack as Newt apparated them off into the night.


End file.
